Chapter One 

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The concrete wall is plain, with black streaks along the mortar joints. A red light illuminates the space, with only the sound of labored breathing. 

In the upper corner of the room is a small video webcam with a tiny red light glowing, indicating that it is broadcasting to an external audience. 

A clanging of metal on metal is heard as the camera moves slightly while the lens zooms in a little. In the center of the red-lit space is an iron cage with a human figure encased in heavy black leather, the figure on its knees. The head of the object is trapped, extended outside the gates of the cage that open like a barn door. This head is covered in a thick, well-worn leather isolation hood that has removed any facial features of the object, except for the bump where a nose would be. With two grommet breathing holes at the base of the leathered nose feature, the object can breathe, though the size of the holes causes some restriction. With the padded isolation hood, the kneeling, caged object is unable to see or speak, as those openings have been sealed. 

The sound of air passing through the small holes can be heard, along with moaning from a filled, gagged mouth, as the object seems to be suffering some pain. The hood has a thick padded area that extends over where the object's lips would be. A leather strap covers this padding and is secured behind the head; it is tight as it presses into the padding. Its moans sound muffled, as if something has been stuffed into the object's lips before the hood was slid over the head and plunged the object into darkness. A string of drool, coming from behind the grommet hole that is covered by the leather strap, falls to the bare concrete floor where a puddle has developed with the growing excretion of spit from the object. 

Movement is difficult as the object is on its knees, with the head being pulled through the opening. There is no support for the object as the weight of the leather-encased body is being pressed upon the knees and against the hard wood of the base of the cage. The height of the cage makes the object bend forward, with the arms in a leather straitjacket, pulling them across the object's body. 

Three leather belts have been strapped through the back straps on the straitjacket and run through the top bars on the cage. This keeps the object further secured as it sweats in the full coverage black bondage suit that it wears. The object's ankles are secured with chrome metal cuffs welded to the cage's base frame. The object wears white laced black Underground 14-hole boots that are locked with a gold lock through the top lace holes. The boots wiggle as the body moves while the object moans from behind the mask.

Behind the body of the object, the reason for it being in pain is the exposed ass that is being fucked by a long red rubber dildo, which is fucking the open asshole of the leather-encased object. Mounted on the end of a pistoning machine, the dildo enters the greased hole of the helpless object. As it pushes deeper, this causes the object to moan as it feels the end of the dildo press as far as it can go and stop for a moment; then it is slowly pulled out. But it stops, keeping the rim of the hole open, and starts to process again. 

It’s been over an hour since the object was left alone in this empty concrete space under the home of the man that the object was dancing with just three nights before. Now it is trapped in the cage, being fucked with a plastic replica dick, speechless, sightless and helpless to stop the endless assault into its ass. 

As the caged, leather-encased object is fucked endlessly, the camera sends the video out over the Wi-Fi to the one device that has access to the feed. The device that is currently being held in the leather-gloved hand of Motorrad as he sits on his BMW.

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The freight train moves swiftly as the motor vehicles and the lone BMW sit waiting for the many freight cars to pass and open the road again. Motorrad sits waiting, his face behind the red full-face helmet he wears; the reflection of the video from his device shows with the reflection on the silver shield of the helmet, the distant sky turning from red to a deep purple as the day is ending and night is coming. 

The motorcycle rider, in full Alpinestars riding leathers of black with white logos, watches with amusement at the predicament that he left his object in. Being well taken care of in silence, away from the outside world, captive of the man that likes to keep men helpless. 
With some amusement, Motorrad realizes the fucking of his object is at the same rhythm as the thumping of the train cars passing the tracks before him. A few more freight cars pass by, and then the sounds of the train move into the distance as the tracks clear and in a matter of moments the gate rises to open the road again.

Motorrad powers down his electronic device, places it in his pocket, kicks the bike into gear, follows the vehicles before him, pulls the throttle and moves swiftly through the trees and down the road towards the big city of Berlin. 

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Shimmering in the light of the full moon, the Spree River flows under the Michaelkirchstraße bridge as traffic heads in and out of the industrial section of Berlin. The sky is mostly clear with a few stray clouds slowly drifting across the night sky. It is a cool, not uncomfortable night, as the few people walking across the bridge are wearing coats and hats. With their hands in their pockets, they linger as they cross the bridge, looking at the swiftly flowing waters. 

In the traffic heading southwest on the bridge, a sleek red BMW S1000RR is trailing a black Audi. The streetlights reflect off the red Ruroc full-face helmet with a silver shield. The rider’s head bobs with the small bumps on the bridge deck as the road passes onto land, going between the trees that sway slightly in the breeze. 

Approaching the intersection with Köpenicker Street, the Alpinestars black-and-white leather-armored glove reaches for the brake as the rider slows his machine to the approaching red signal. The biker slows, coming to a rolling stop as his left white Alpinestars Tech 10 motocross-booted foot lowers onto the dry pavement. 

Waiting for the signal to turn, the rider looks around and spots a spot on Köpenicker Street where he can park his bike. Sitting upright on this ride, the biker is wearing his Alpinestars Stella Missile V3 Leather Pants, which tuck into his white boots. He is also wearing his Faster V3 Airflow Leather Jacket, which features padded elbows and shoulders. 

When the traffic light turns green, the biker makes a turn, and in a few short moments, he parks in the small space that is perfect for this bike. Turning off his ride, the rider grips the heavy armored riding gloves, pulling them off and revealing a pair of tight leather gloves that allow more movement. Unzipping a side pocket, the biker places his keys and zips the pocket closed. 

Dismounting from his BMW, the biker carries an industrial-style backpack and keeps the helmet on as he looks around. After a moment, he finds the Tresor nightclub he was looking for, hearing a very faint beat that must be coming from the club. There are many cars at the entrance of the club, with the fashionable people coming and going for their night of entertainment and dancing. Noticing the location of the club, the biker proceeds towards a multi-story apartment building that kitty corner from the club.  

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Several stories above Köpenicker Street, a door opens from the stairway as the biker, Gunnar Motorrad, exits and steps onto the roof. Still wearing his leathers, the biker closes the door as his boots are heard on the asphalt-covered roof. Wearing his helmet and carrying his backpack, Gunnar moves to the edge of the building in the direction that would put him in sight of the entrance of the club. Moving across the roof, there is a faint beat from the disco coming through the night air. As he reaches the small wall that lines the roofline, Gunnar looks down at the traffic lining up to drop off the rich and famous that are heading into the club to spend their night. 

Removing his backpack, Gunnar takes a deep breath, then works to take off his helmet, revealing a balaclava over his face. From this position, Gunnar is now a short distance from where vehicles drop off for the entrance of a booming and busy nightclub, Tresor. Motorrad removes a small set of electronic binoculars from his leather riding jacket and takes a look at the club entrance. 
Noting the crowd down on the street, Motorrad looks at his iWatch and sees that he has thirty minutes before the top of the hour. Removing the backpack, Motorrad sits at the edge of the low wall, looking down to see the ground floor below him. 

Then Motorrad pulls out of his pack the two pieces of metal that, when he puts them together they become a high-powered rifle. As it snaps together, Motorrad balances the weapon in his gloved hand, feeling that it is just right.  Balancing the weapon against the wall, Motorrad lowers himself to the roof, sitting low so as not to be noticed. 

Settling in for the wait, the biker’s leather creaks as he moves. Motorrad pulls the zipper on the top side of his pack, pulling out an iPad. Motorrad enters his code on his iPad with his gloved finger, and the home screen appears. The screen shows a head encased in a full leather hood, blind and gagged, as it remains belted to the cage in a restrictive leather straitjacket. Touching one of the app icons, Motorrad watches with his intense blue eyes, which sparkle with the reflection of the video screen as the app opens.

The screen goes black, and then an image appears. 

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Motorrad is glad to see that his captive is still where he left it when he left his flat. Motorrad’s eyes reflect his happiness as he reaches down to adjust his cock that is trapped in his heavy leather riding pants. With his other hand, he taps the screen and a side menu of buttons appears. With the hand that holds the iPad, Motorrad moves his thumb over a green button. Pressing it, Motorrad smiles as he watches the leather object shudder in the tight, heavy bondage. Releasing the button, the object stops moving, breathing heavily through the two nostril hoses under the helpless captive’s nose. There was moaning from behind the gag during the time the electricity was flowing through the body of the captive object in the solitary red-lit concrete bunker. 

Pausing for a moment, the biker pressed the green button again. The leathered gimp struggles in bondage as its body is tortured. Helpless, sweating and unable to see that it is alone in a cage in a basement while it is shocked again. The steel restraints keep the gimp locked in place with the little movement that comes from the electro torture as a reminder of how the gimp cannot escape. 
It has been a while since the gimp was put into the cage and the restrictive restraints. For a long time, it was helpless and was free of any torture as the man that controlled it was on a long, distant ride on his motorcycle. But now, Motorrad is killing time and having fun making sure his gimp suffers, even when alone. Something the object is unaware of, as it kneels in the cage, in darkness, not knowing that it is alone in a space unknown to the world. But it is being watched by the one man who appreciates the control that he has over his object.